


the exponent of breath

by zayheathers



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, Found Family, Gen, and a grown man named gustav, basically olivia + jacqueline adopt children, except jacques i'm so sorry, i also wrote this... quite a while ago, this was meant to be a multi-chap but i ran out of patience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayheathers/pseuds/zayheathers
Summary: Jacquelyn leaves to find the children two days after they arrive at the unofficial safehouse. It’s a quaint place. Larger than any house Olivia has been in, without a doubt, but with a homely charm all the same.She wonders how long she will have to occupy her own time before Jacquelyn comes back. She hopes she'll come back.
Relationships: Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	the exponent of breath

> _ Love is anterior to life, _
> 
> _ Posterior to death, _
> 
> _ Initial of creation, and _
> 
> _ The exponent of breath. _
> 
> — Emily Dickinson

Jacquelyn leaves two days after they arrive at the safehouse—or one of them, actually, to Olivia’s understanding. It’s a quaint place. Larger than any house  _ Olivia  _ has been in, without a doubt, but with a homely charm all the same. Apparently, the house had been a gift from the Duchess of Winnipeg to Jacquelyn personally, and so the VFD have no official record of it—a large reason Jacquelyn had decided to bring her here instead of a more recognised safehouse.

  
  
  


As far as safehouses go—not that Olivia has been to many—it’s quite lovely. Just on the outskirts of a perfectly standard town, facing the beautiful painting of the countryside. It’s quiet, with only one or two people dropping by every now and then. Larry, with the peculiar last name and who most definitely did  _ not  _ work in the Prufrock cafeteria, checks in on her the first few days Jacquelyn is gone, but then leaves for an undetermined amount of time—no doubt to find the Baudelaires and Quagmires. Olivia doesn’t particularly mind, as long as the children are found.

  
  
  


There was also the woman who drove them here, that night Jacquelyn saved Olivia, in the yellow taxi that holds far more memories than a yellow taxi should. Kit, Olivia remembers. That’s her name. With a defined jaw and deep brown eyes so expressive, just like her brother, she had only stopped a moment before leaving again, not wanting to waste a second on finding the children.

  
  
  


She spends most of her days wandering the halls of the house, exploring each nook and cranny. Before she had left, Jacquelyn had given her full permission for Olivia to be—quote—as nosy as she liked. In fact, nosiness seemed to be a welcomed trait, judging from the teasing look in her host's eye. Thus, Olivia allows herself to look around guilt-free.

  
  
  


Predictably, she finds her favourite room is the library. It’s quite expansive, top to floor stocked with books from surely every continent—if not country—in the world. It’s beautiful. Natural light flows in through the huge windows, making the room feel indescribably warm. Mostly, the books are leather-bound, but preserved in the most tender way, by hands that are most likely delicate but fiercely caring. She happens to know just the type.

  
  
  


Most of her days are spent there, absorbing the wonderfully vast collection of knowledge and sampling every sort of tea Jacquelyn keeps stocked in her tea cupboard. Sometimes she ventures out into the small town to restock on things like eggs and milk. Not every day, of course, but just enough for the townspeople to begin to recognise her. She’s even on a first name basis with Steve-from-the-corner-shop.

  
  
  


Of course, she knows enough to only introduce herself as Olivia. People still talk, though, as is expected. This is a small town, after all, and it’s inevitable. They whisper of her cane and limp, and her accommodations, and speculate of her relationship with Jacquelyn. It’s that last one that brings heat to her cheeks, whenever the townspeople are careless enough to let rumours make it to Olivia’s ears.

  
  
  


All in all, it’s a pleasant town. But she finds herself feeling restless. Feeling as if she needs to do something, needs to feel useful. And so she does all she can to keep herself occupied, even though she knows not even an infinite number of books can keep her mind from wandering.

Jacquelyn arrives back at the house a few weeks or so later. (Olivia isn't sure of the specifics, she’s stopped keeping track of days.) She pulls up in a battered and beaten looking motorcycle, and the woman herself doesn’t seem to be faring much better. When she opens the door, there are bags heavy under her eyes, soot and dirt in her hair, and her lips are chapped and dry. 

  
  
  


Even so, Olivia hesitates when about to offer the woman an embrace of comfort, thinks that she does not actually know Jacquelyn that well despite living in her house for the better part of a month (and maybe a half), before realising such things in circumstances such as these are of little concern.

  
  
  


The cane she carries really isn’t necessary anymore—her legs are almost all healed, and mostly she uses the stick for balance, or on the occasion when she turns her head much too fast and is impinged with a migraine—and so she lays it on the small rounded coffee table by the door and wraps her arms around Jacquelyn.

  
  
  


The blonde buries her face in Olivia’s neck, and Olivia can feel the flutter of her eyelashes as she closes them against her sensitive skin. She feels Jacquelyn take a deep breath, relax herself in the embrace, as if she finally allows some of the weight she carries to fall from her shoulders.

  
  
  


“You’re back,” Olivia says when she pulls away, still staying close, still with her hand on Jacquelyn’s arm. She says this in a whisper, and looks up into Jacquelyn’s intensive eyes. 

  
  
  


“I am.” 

  
  
  


In the five days (including the one spent in the taxi, where Olivia had been most unconscious) she and Jacquelyn have known each other, Olivia has learnt that the blonde is a woman of few words, only speaking as efficiently as possible. She knows she doesn’t mind conversation and questions, but she also knows that she has no patience for incompetent bankers, superfluous theatrics, and small talk. This means she knows when to push.

  
  
  


“The Baudelaires?”

  
  
  


“On the way,” Jaqueline says with a relieved sigh. It’s short lived, however, and her expression hardens again. “Olaf is… Olaf is dead. And I’m certain they are all still processing it. Kit sent me ahead, to be with you.” Olivia smiles at that, sitting them down.

  
  
  


“I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life,” she tells her when they sit on the couch, drinking strong tea from equally strong teacups, their legs brushing ever so slightly. It’s awfully familiar for two people who have known each other less than a week, but Olivia finds that doesn’t seem like an accurate descriptor anymore.

  
  
  


“As do I. The Baudelaires told us stories during the journey we took together—they were ecstatic to know you survived. I didn’t know it possible to miss someone I’ve barely known so acutely, but somehow, I have missed you, Olivia Caliban.”

  
  
  


“And somehow, so have I, Jacquelyn Scieszka.”

* * *

“Don’t worry children,” Olivia tells them one night at dinner. They've been staying in the safehouse for just over a week, but she can see every flinch and gasp the Baudelaires take every time Jacquelyn or herself leave the house, when dishes clatter too loud, or when they close their eyes and nightmares appear. 

  
  
  


So, she reassures them whenever possible they are protected and cared for so very much. “As long as you’re with us, we’ll keep you safe from strangers ringing doorbells unannounced.”

  
  
  


Just then, a stranger rings the doorbell, unannounced. All at the table freeze, but none so enormously as the three Baudelaire children. “Don’t answer it,” Klaus says, weary. Both Violet and Sunny offer frantic nods in agreement.

  
  
  


Jacquelyn furrows her brows, deep it thought. “That’s strange. The neighbours don’t often like to ring the doorbell. And only a handful of people know the location of this safehouse—seven, to be precise—and three of them are no longer with us.”

  
  
  


Olivia stands, heading towards the door and ignoring the children’s panicked looks. She has absolute faith that Jacquelyn and herself are perceptive enough to know if it is one of Count Olaf’s troupe in disguise, and besides, she isn’t just going to throw the door open. From the peephole, she observes a man with a dark head of hair and beard. Just behind his shoulder, she glimpses a pair of inexplicably sad eyes she knows, but she also doesn’t. 

  
  
  


She calls Jacquelyn, who is quickly defensive, peering through the small door with a suspicious eye. One glance at the people behind it, however, Olivia is stunned to see her face break into a grin as she lets them in with open arms. “Why, Gustav Sebald,” she says, voice bright in a way that could almost betray the way it shakes, “I thought you died in a swamp.”

  
  
  


“So did I, Jacquelyn Scieszka, but here we are.” Oh. An old friend, then. In the back of her mind, a sad thought appears, and she wonders if he’d known Jacques. If he knows he isn’t alive anymore. If he would mourn as she did.

  
  
  


Their guests are invited to join them for their meal—among other things—and while walking back to the dinner table, Olivia learns that Dr. Gustav Sebald is indeed a close friend, and fierce ally at that, and has a long history with their… organisation. He is smart, charming, and well-read, and Olivia takes an instant liking to him.

  
  
  


“I found this boy going through Monty’s things.” He says as they walk down the hall. “He’s a Quagmire if I ever saw one. It took him a while to trust me, but once we read through Monty’s notes and letters with his parents, we’re alright.” Gustav glances down to his left, and the child—Quigley Quagmire, if her memory of Prufrock served—smiles back at him, a little overwhelmed. 

  
  
  


“Quigley, isn’t it?” She says to him, careful but not coddling. It is the tone she always uses with such children. It’s the tone she wishes were used on her, when she was a child such as this.

  
  
  


He nods. “How do you know my name?”

  
  
  


“I met your brother and sister in the preparatory school I used to work in. A terrible, terrible place, but I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet your siblings. Isadora has an extraordinary talent for poetry, especially couplets. And Duncan is an  _ extremely  _ skilled writer, very well-read. From what I could gather from what he was willing to show me, of course. Writings can be very private things. They were the highlight of my time in that awful school.”

  
  
  


With every word she speaks of his siblings, Quigley’s eyes brighten and his smile stretches. “There are three children here who were splendid friends with your brother and sister. If you’d like to talk to them, they are at the dinner table right now.”

  
  
  


“That sounds very nice, Miss. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to people my age.” He and Gustav share an amused smile, and she thinks how he seems much older than he is.

  
  
  


Beaming at him, she says, “I know they would  _ love  _ to talk to you, too. And Quigley, please, call me Olivia,” she says with an uncontrollable smile on her face, missing the way Jacquelyn’s entire stance softens in response, and how Gustav nudges the blonde with a knowing look in his eyes.

  
  
  


She  _ doesn’t _ miss the way Jacquelyn laughs—a loud, unrestrained, endearing thing—when she shoves him back, hard enough for him to crash into the wall, and the way two old friends must stop walking for fear they’ll fall from just how strong their chortles are.

* * *

Quigley decides to stay with them, which is  _ extremely _ alright in Olivia’s book, as does Gustav. Although, there is the small issue of who will sleep where, considering there are only three spare bedrooms, each furnished with a single bed (among other randomised items; such as closets, vanities, and nightstands). 

  
  
  


Unfortunately, this means Gustav takes the couch (which he had been fine about, understanding as Olivia had an injury. Though, he did seem the kind of person to insist on the basis of personal morality. Apparently, she’d been right, as Klaus had later told her Jacquelyn and her old friend had gotten into quite the shouting match). Quigley, of course, takes the bedroom Olivia had been staying in.

  
  
  


That left herself to share the master with Jacquelyn. She tells herself to think nothing of it, that it is the most logical solution after all, and  _ all _ parties would feel much more awkward if the sleeping arrangement had involved Gustav in some shape or form. But she cannot quite ignore the fluttering in her belly and the tightness of her chest, as she thinks of the implications.

  
  
  


The majority of the days pass without incidents of awkwardness or trauma—because Jacquelyn is off to conduct business, apparently, and that means Olivia is left with four children to entertain (a simple enough task) and a master suite to enjoy. And then Jacquelyn and Gustav return. 

  
  
  


Sharing a room, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how honest Olivia feels like being with herself) means a shared bathroom, closest, and of course, bed. It’s all rather… domestic, and the thought makes her heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird. Olivia makes sure to time her usage of the bathroom so she finishes before Jacquelyn even needs to use it, which isn’t a problem until bedtime arrives.

  
  
  


Olivia has taken to wearing a simple silk nightdress, complete with a robe, after taking a shower—and, additionally, to sleep. It had been hiding in one of the many closets Jaqueline keeps in her entirely spacious house, and Olivia had seen no issue in using it after a quick wash to rid of the dust.

  
  
  


“O-oh,” Jacquelyn stutters (the first time Olivia has ever heard  _ anything  _ like that out of her mouth), and clears her throat. “Uh, I should have knocked, my apo—”

  
  
  


“No, no,” Olivia stops her before she can back her way out of the room, “It’s alright. This is your room too, after all.” The other woman only responds with a sharp nod, refusing to meet her eyes and staring at the wall behind Olivia’s head with such intensity she briefly worries there’s some sort of insect or animal there.

  
  
  


After that, Jacquelyn takes the bathroom, and Olivia sits on ‘her side’ of the bed (which she hasn’t discussed with her bedmate, but she hopes she’ll be indifferent), dry hair pulled into a messy bun and letting Dickinson’s wonderful poetry wash over her for what feels like the millionth time in her lifetime. 

  
  
  


Her words never fail to enthrall her attention, so much so she doesn’t notice Jacquelyn step out of the shower until it’s too late, and Olivia finds herself staring. In itself, her attire isn’t quite unusual, she supposes. The woman is clad in a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white singlet that exposes the entirety of her incredibly muscular arms. 

  
  
  


Blonde hair is tied into a quick ponytail, and Olivia is so mesmerised by the movement that she almost doesn’t notice Jacquelyn make her way to the couch about a foot away from the end of the bed. “What are you doing?”

  
  
  


Jacquelyn turns, and Olivia is hit with the scent of her body wash, faintly brown orange and bergamot, and she realises that’s what she smells like too, after using her body wash for a number of days. The thought makes her chest flutter in a pleasantly peculiar way.

  
  
  


“I’m about to retire for the night,” she says, voice sounding a little confused. 

  
  
  


Olivia frowns. “That can’t be comfortable!”

  
  
  


“It’s quite alright, my back has definitely seen worse.” A bark of laughter makes its way to Olivia’s ears, and despite her annoyance—as well as the fact she has no idea what it is Jacquelyn finds quite so funny—she smiles a little in response. “Besides, compared to the last few days, this couch is practically a bowl of marshmallows.”

  
  
  


“But, I—” Olivia flushes at what she had been about to say and stops herself, reorganising the sentence in her head. “Surely I can’t take up that much space?”

  
  
  


“No, of course not,” Jacquelyn says with an amused smile, “but I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  
  
  


“For goodness sake, will you forget chivalry and just come up here, please? We’re both adults and should most definitely be able to share… things. Your back won’t forgive you as easily as I will, especially not after the taxing mission you’ve no doubt had!” Olivia flushes at her outburst, and then even more when Jacquelyn makes her way to her, towering in standing form over Olivia, whose head is propped against the backboard. Her smile is still lazily amused.

  
  
  


“Alright, alright, Miss Caliban. If you wanted me in your bed, you should just have said so.”

  
  
  


“Technically, it’s  _ your  _ bed,” Olivia grumbles to hide the flush dusting her face, but there’s a hidden grin to her tone. “And I did say so,” 

  
  
  


When Jacquelyn settles herself onto the bed, she’s still laughing, a series of huffing sounds tickling Olivia’s ear.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading I love you all!


End file.
